With the festival over, the warehouse returned to what Alric considered normal. This was not, strictly speaking, normal by any widely accepted definition, but it was at least familiar.

  The apple peelers were still working, though they were nearing the end now. They would finish either today or tomorrow, depending on whether anyone’s hands gave out first. Apples, Alric had learned, did not respect morale.

  He was in the fermentation section when there was a knock at the wagon entrance. The Adventurers’ Guild was still selling cider, but with far less enthusiasm than on his last visit. The city, it seemed, had collectively decided it had drunk enough to remember, despite their best efforts to forget.

  Outside stood a small group of children wearing mismatched pieces of armour. This was not because armour was plentiful, but because children were resourceful and tended to grow out of things faster than guild quartermasters could keep up. Alric grabbed the wooden chits he used to mark a quest complete and went to meet them.

  The eldest, clearly the leader by virtue of standing half a head taller and looking slightly more tired, stepped forward and held out a large sack of buds. Alric grinned. They had been busy. He also felt, as always, a mild and persistent discomfort about the fact that they were better at this than most adults. He still felt bad about having children do work for him.

  “I’ll need to check those,” Alric said with a mock scowl. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to pass off stones.”

  “You’ll find no stones, mister,” the boy replied. “Just the plants you asked for.”

  Alric nodded and carried the sack into his office. He spread the hops across his desk, noting the effect the weather had had on them. The season was closing sooner than he liked. He frowned, having hoped to lay in more for the winter.

  He counted out the wooden chits and handed them over. Eleven markers.

  “This right to you?” he asked, holding out the stack.

  The leader counted, nodded, then held out a folded letter.

  “Was told to give this to you, mister. We’re going out again tomorrow,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the office.

  The group headed off, leaving Alric alone with the letter. He turned it over. Adventurers’ Guild seal.

  He broke it open in his office. It was short and direct, a request from the guild master to meet and tally totals. It carried the usual string of o’s at the end and a note of anticipation that worried him.

  He needed to make a delivery anyway. He might as well go now.

  “Hal, I’ll be out for a while,” he said. “Delivery and a meeting.”

  Hal nodded, the way people do when they know exactly what that means and do not wish to hear more.

  Alric fetched his cloak and stored the delivery in his item box. A mix of beer and cider.

  As he walked toward the guild, the cloak made him feel faintly like a cosplayer. Edgy, yes, but also, kind of cool.

  The Adventurers’ Guild was still half in celebration, selling cider but the staff were now taking naps. He decided to unload first before seeing the guild master. The barman grinned when he saw him and lifted the bar flap.

  The barrels were still out in the open as makeshift bars. People were drinking, but it had shifted from waging war against sobriety to casual drinking.

  Walking through the storage room toward the cellar, Alric engaged in the oldest pastime, small talk.

  “So,” Alric said as they walked in, “how’d it go in the end?”

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  “Best festival of me life,” the barman replied. “Never been so tired.”

  In the cellar, Alric found stacks of his empty casks waiting. Hard cider was low, and the soft cider was gone entirely. He replaced both, then paused.

  “More beer?” he asked.

  The barman nodded, pointing to the same spot as before. Alric added fresh casks of ale and stout, then collected the empties.

  “You bringing much more?” the barman asked, eyeing the stock.

  “Some,” Alric said. “I’ll be done with cider in about a week. I’d like to stop smelling apples.”

  The barman laughed. “I’d like to stop smelling your cider. Didn’t catch your name.”

  Alric introduced himself to Gil. Paperwork followed.

  “Can I reach the guild master’s office from here?” Alric asked. “I’ve got a letter.”

  Gil gave directions, and Alric followed them.

  He knocked.

  “Enter.”

  “You asked for me?” Alric said, stepping inside.

  The guild master put on what he clearly considered his winning smile and gestured to the chair with deliberate care. “Don’t we know each other better than this? Call me Pavise.”

  “Uh. I’m Alric,” he said, sitting down.

  Pavise tilted his head and leaned forward slightly.

  Alric leaned back.

  Something in him snapped.

  “Pavise. This is not happening,” Alric said, finding a steadiness he hadn’t expected. “There are several reasons, but first, you’re a customer. Second… my man, you are massive. What the hell?”

  The room went quiet.

  Pavise stared at the wall, then exhaled through his nose and let his shoulders drop. The smile vanished.

  “I was trying to win you over,” he said at last, without looking at him.

  He rubbed one hand down his face. “I know how that sounds but you don’t seem to understand, you have power here. We need you more than you need us”

  Alric said nothing.

  Pavise sighed. “This may seem trivial to you, but you are the only person brave enough, or mad enough, to supply us with decent drink. I don’t get many chances like that.”

  He glanced back, expression more tired than offended. “When the drink’s bad, adventurers leave faster. They finish a contract, move on, don’t come back.”

  He tapped the wall once with his knuckles. “When it’s good, they linger. They talk. Older ones settle, take on trainees. That’s how a guild survives past its first generation.”

  Alric frowned slightly. That made sense.

  “Most places think steel is what holds a guild together,” Pavise continued. “It isn’t. It’s what happens after the steel goes back in the rack.”

  There was a pause.

  “Uh,” Alric said. “You’re my only client right now.”

  Pavise blinked.

  Then he laughed, low and surprised.

  “I’m an idiot,” he said, shaking his head. “An absolute idiot.”

  He straightened. “For this meeting, I want the VP present. Better with numbers. Knows the history. Hold on.”

  He struck the wall.

  A moment later, another man entered. Former adventurer, by the look of him, though dressed in robes rather than armour. He took in the room in a glance.

  “This is my VP, Andelus,” Pavise said. “Andelus, this is the brewer. Be nice to him. We need him. And I’m Hadrik, though most call me Pavise.”

  Introductions followed. Andelus inclined his head.

  “Healer,” he said. “Not clergy.” He seemed keen to make that clear.

  “Right,” Pavise said. “We owe you coin. That will be settled. But first, some history.”

  He explained the guild’s history with brewers. They had once hired their own brewers who worked in house. One sickened a high-ranking party. Words were exchanged. Then fists. Then blades. The tavern keepers’ guild had ensured the story spread faster than the truth.

  “And after that,” Andelus added quietly, “no brewer would work under our roof.”

  “That brings us to now,” Pavise said. “We have a contract with the innkeepers’ guild. Price per cask. Which means we come last. Any inn serves itself first.”

  “The price per cask is what hurts, we get it from the guild so our members don’t know who it came from. They use whatever they have lying around to scrape something together, it makes no sense to use their best grain because they get paid the same.”

  Alric nodded slowly.

  “Come spring, I want to cancel the contract,” Pavise continued. “We’d need eight casks a week.”

  “I can manage that,” Alric said. “Though from what I’ve seen, eight casks seems light.”

  “It is” Pavise said. “Often more. We do tend to throw parties.” He winced faintly. “Just not with your cider again.”

  “Your cider carried the festival,” Andelus said. “More than expected. For that, you have our thanks.”

  Alric nodded, satisfied.

  “So this starts in spring?” he asked. “No beer in winter?”

  “We don’t usually take beer in winter,” Andelus said. “Doesn’t brewing stops when it gets too cold?”

  “I’m allowed my secrets,” Alric replied, smiling.

  Pavise sighed. “Your apple demon cleaned us out. Most of the guild will be scraping coin to get through winter. We won’t take much for a while.”

  He shifted as if toward some paper, but Alric raised a hand.

  “If I’m supplying you,” he said, “I’d like to make something just for the guild. Only sold here. What are you after?”

  Pavise and Andelus exchanged a glance, then smiled.

  “Not as strong strong as the cider, something light and easy to drink” Pavise said quickly. “Please.”

  Alric agreed. His mind was spinning with pale ale and generally light beer.

  “One warning,” Pavise added. “Right now the rumour is I struck a deal with a dryad. Once I cancel the innkeepers’ contract, I won’t be able to shield you. No one knows who you are yet.”

  He met Alric’s eyes.

  “That will change.”

  Alric nodded.

  “Right, lets see what we owe you, we know it’s a lot though.”

  He left the guild richer by several gold.

  The festival had been profitable.

  Very profitable.